


two battlefields too late

by blue--phantom (twilightscribe)



Series: we deserve a soft epilogue [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Au Ra Warrior of Light, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Exhaustion, Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-ambiguous Warrior of Light, One Shot, Stormblood Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 14:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11580417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightscribe/pseuds/blue--phantom
Summary: Whenever, it seems, that Durae is in the most danger, he is always there alone. And that should not be the case.





	two battlefields too late

Estinien arrives too late to be of any use.

Already, he sees men going through the battlefield, gathering bodies and checking to see who among the fallen yet still draws breath. He strides across the bloody ground, gaze intense and not a little bit terrifying if judged by the wide berth that the Alliance soldiers give him. But he cares little.

Fear simmers low inside of him, threatening to bubble over and leave him searching frantically through the dead and wounded. But he is here, somewhere, he simply _must_ find him.

And find him he does.

Durae’s horns and height are distinctive, even when kneeling. His hair is darker in the moonlight and his face hidden by shadow, but it’s undoubtedly him. And he is _alive_.

_Thank the Fury_.

Though Estinien will deny it, he quickens his pace until he’s at Durae’s side.

Durae kneels at the side of one of the fallen Resistance fighters, his hands are balled into fists against his thighs and he trembles violently. His breathing is ragged, his clothes dishevelled and stained heavily with blood.

Yet, when he speaks, his voice is soft and devoid of emotion, “There is nothing I can do for him.”

Gently, Estinien lays a hand over one of Durae’s, “You can do nothing more for them here, my love.”

“I can–”

“Durae, you are near to collapse from exhaustion. No doubt that you have saved many from a similar fate,” Estinien says. “Content yourself with that, but know that you cannot save them all.”

It’s only then that Durae looks to him. His eyes glitter in the light from the moon, cheeks glistening with tears. His next words are choked, “But I… I could have done _more_. I could have...”

Not for nothing, Estinien wishes that Aymeric were here. He is better suited to comforting their love when he needs it, far better with words than Estinien could ever hope to be.

But Aymeric is not here, it is only Estinien. And he is a man of action, not words.

He pulls Durae to his chest, tucking him against him and strokes his back comfortingly – as one would a child. There are dim recollections of comforting his brother so, but Estinien carefully packs those away for they have no place here. Rather, he focuses on Durae, whose trembling has only gotten worse.

Wrapping Durae in his arms, Estinien holds him as he weeps soundlessly into his chest. His shoulders occasionally are wracked with sobbing shakes, but he makes no sound as he empties his grief into the space between them. His hands twist into the fabric of Estinien’s tunic, clinging to him tightly as though he, too, might be carried away from him.

He nearly was, Estinien remembers, and inwardly winces as his own words echo in his mind. But Durae had saved him then, and he will not let him fall now.

None disturb them; either too busy with their own duties or giving the two of them a wide berth, Estinien cares not. His entire world has shrunk down to the weeping man in his arms; Durae is all that matters now.

Slowly, the trembling subsides and the violent sobs come to an end. Yet, Durae remains shaking in his arms and holding tightly to him. Estinien continues to hold him close, running a soothing hand along his back and through his hair.

But all too soon, the world returns to them. Estinien spots Raubahn across the large lake, who gestures at him to follow, before he turns and heads to one of the rooms off the large outdoor area. Judging by the people coming and going with stretchers and injured, it’s likely the infirmary.

Brushing a kiss against Durae’s forehead, Estinien murmurs, “Come, my love. The others will worry.”

Durae nods, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Can you stand?” Estinien asks softly.

Again, Durae nods.

Gently, Estinien stands, pulling Durae with him. But it seems that Durae’s legs are not up to the task, for they collapse under him the moment he puts any weight on them. And the trembling returns with a vengeance.

Cursing, Estinien sweeps Durae’s legs out from under him. There’s nothing to be done, then, but carry him.

“Overexerted yourself, then.”

“Forgive me,” Durae says quietly – almost too softly for Estinien to hear him.

“Nay, you do not need to ask me for forgiveness, my love,” he replies. “Clearly, you need rest. I will bring you to the infirmary, where you may rest while we reconvene.”

“Y’shtola… she…” Durae’s voice catches in his throat. “And Lyse…”

Ducking into the infirmary, Estinien is immediately greeted by a young, blonde woman, “Durae!”

Though he winces, Durae releases one hand’s death grip on Estinien’s tunic to reach out and take the woman’s hand, giving it a weak, yet soothing squeeze, “I’m fine. Really.”

“Thank the gods…” she murmured. “I had thought… but no matter.” She turns to Estinien, “I’m Lyse, by the way, bring him this way, there’s a bed next to Y’shtola’s.”

“Is she…?”

Lyse smiles, though it’s a weak one, “Krile assures me that she’s through the worse now, thanks to the two of you. And Conrad is awake now, he, too, will be fine.”

“Estinien!”

The boy, Alphinaud, is quickly at their side, his eyes wide with worry and his face smeared with sweat and dirt. Though he tries to hide it, there’s a tremble to his hands that speaks of worry and exertion.

Now that he looks, Estinien recognizes the looks that those in the infirmary wear. Each of them bears an expression of tired resignation, one that he knows well from his years in the Temple Knights and as the Azure Dragoon. There is little to be salvaged here, this he knows.

“I – Durae, are you alright? You’re not wounded, are you?”

“He will be fine,” Estinien assures him, laying Durae on the bed next to the unconscious Miqo'te woman he assumes must be the spoken of Y’shtola. “He simply exerted himself too much in helping others. Let him rest.”

“O-oh, of course.”

Estinien settles himself on the edge of Durae’s bed, hesitating before he reaches out to smooth back his hair from his face. His skin is warm to the touch – more so than normal.

Though his hands still shake, Durae catches Estinien’s hands and holds them to his face, “I’m sorry… for making you worry.”

“What have I said about apologizing?” Estinien says, frowning. “You do not intend to stop helping others – this I know well, for it is a part of your nature. And I will never stop worrying over you. I fear for you every time you are out of my sight, yet I…”

The words die in his throat. Estinien swallows and glances away.

“All we heard was that there had been a – a massacre,” he says softly, forcing the words out. “I came as quickly as I could, but… you do not know how relieved I was to find you, whole and alive, after… after seeing all of that death…”

“I thought I was going to die,” Durae murmurs, clutching tightly to Estinien’s hands. His words are near frantic as they spill past his lips. “I was certain that I was. When Zenos… I thought...”

“Hush, my love,” Estinien says, pressing fingers to his lips. “Save your strength. I will see you to safely before the dawn comes, but for now, you must rest.”

Durae shakes his head, “I can’t… everyone was… but I couldn’t… he was so _strong_ , Estinien. And all I thought was… I’ll never see you – either of you – again. Nothing else, I–I...”

“You were not selfish, Durae, to think of us in what you believed were your final thoughts. Do not think you were. But please, rest. For me.”

“Al-alright…”

Estinien leans down, brushes his lips against Durae’s forehead, and sits vigil until he finally drifts to sleep. Around him, there is hushed chatter and the Scions make their plans to retreat from the Reach back to the relative safety of their camp in what was Baelsar’s Wall.

“You intend to return with us then, Estinien?” Alphinaud asks quietly. He perches himself on the edge of the bed opposite Durae’s, so that he faces Estinien.

“Yes, Aymeric will be waiting there for us. He… regrets that he could not come in person, but…”

Alphinaud smiles, though it’s a wane one, “He has other duties, yes. I’m certain that Durae knows that, but will be surprised to see him, nonetheless. He’s always putting others before himself; a noble yet worrying trait of his.”

“Indeed.”

“We will take a few days once we are safely away from Rhalgar’s Reach to resituate ourselves, recover, and decide upon our next course of action,” Alphinaud continues. “That should give the three of you some time to yourselves. I will see to your privacy and that none disturb you.”

Estinien blinks, but graces Alphinaud with one of his rare smiles, “Thank you.”

“It’s the least we can do. We all owe Durae so much. And… he is my friend. I would see him enjoy his happiness.”

One of the soldiers stops at the bottom of the beds, “The first caravan of injured has left and we have begun preparing the next. Scions, your companions will be among them. If you would…?”

Estinien shakes his head, then tips it towards Durae, “I will see to him, you need not worry.”

“Ah, yes, well – I’m certain that will be fine.”

Durae only barely wakes when Estinien scoops him up from the bed; his eyes crack open as his head lolls forward.

Kissing his temple, Estinien murmurs into his hair, “It’s nothing, love. Rest, when you wake, we will be safe once more.”

He must be much more exhausted than Estinien thought, because Durae only nods his head before his eyes drift closed once more and his head drops to Estinien’s shoulder. His breath is warm and damp against the side of his neck, but Durae is alive and that is all that matters.

There are cots stretched across the carriages and it is into one of these that Estinien tucks Durae. He makes sure to carefully tuck him in and secure the blankets. Though he would dearly love to remain at Durae’s side, he knows that the injured have more priority than he, and so he takes up a position as guard at the rear of their procession.

It’s a long, quiet journey back to the wall, which gives Estinien plenty of time to stew in his own thoughts.

Whenever, it seems, that Durae is in the most danger, he is always there alone. And that should not be the case. He should be there; Aymeric should be there. But it always seems as though they’re too late. Only in facing Nidhogg that first time had Estinien been there with him; that alone is how it should have been. Should be.

And yet… it isn’t. Rather, he and Aymeric are left to pick up the pieces once more. How many more times can they do this before it becomes too much for any of them to bear? Durae is, after all, only one person; he cannot bear the weight of hope for them all alone.

Yet still, he tries to. And Estinien worries what might become of him. He loves Durae beyond anything, would gladly and happily fight and die at his side.

He pauses. Now _there_ is a thought.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Words:** 1920 words
> 
> I've had this particular scene dancing around in my head since watching that entire cutscene. And those who know me well, know precisely how attached I am to Aymeric and Estinien, so... never fear, there will be a reunion fic; it's definitely in the works. Y'all can feel free to come and [bother me on my tumblr](http://graysonflynn.tumblr.com/) with whatever you like. I'm always game for talking ships and fic.


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